


A Party At the Precinct

by BlotOutMyName



Series: The New Intern [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Clues, Gen, Murder, New Years Eve, Precinct Party, Snooping, Some flirting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlotOutMyName/pseuds/BlotOutMyName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley returns to the Gotham City police station for a New Years Eve party to catch up with old friends and ends up meeting a new one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Are You Doing New Years Eve?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I know it's way after New Years, but I wanted something cute for once. Harley has very little happiness. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“So why does the police department decide to have a party on New Year’s Eve, when many officers are still on the job, and when there’s bound to be drunk and disorderly partygoers on the streets?” Harley leaned back and propped her feet on Jim’s desk, watching officers and desk workers alike mingling on the floor below.

          Harvey reached into his jacket pocket for his flask. “We have to be here anyway, why not make it fun?” He asked, lifting the flask up to her. “Cheers. Happy new year, or whatever.”

          Harley laughed. “You’re cheery. Why’d you invite me to this party if you aren’t even happy about it?”

          “I haven’t seen you in a couple weeks.”

          “You saw me on Christmas.”

          “Other than that. It’s been a long time. I hadn’t heard anything from you.”

           “I know, I’ve been busy. I work a lot.”

          “And I still can’t believe you dyed your hair.”

          “I know, but I couldn’t stand people asking me if I was the girl from the _Gazette_. ‘The Intern’ or ‘The Harlequin’, or whatever they called me.” She smiled, taking a pin-curled lock between two fingers. “I kind of like it. Blonde suits me.”

          Harvey grumbled something about another year of dealing with Jim and took another swig from his flask. Harley frowned and stood up from Jim’s desk chair. “I’ll go get you some punch to go with that.”

          “Thanks.”

          “You should come down and at least pretend to enjoy the party.” She turned before he could offer some sarcastic retort, and headed down the stairs, almost bumping into Jim.

          He looked startled. And tired. “What are you doing here?” He asked, confusedly.

          “Harvey invited me to the party, but he doesn’t seem to want to attend. What’s wrong with him?”

          Jim sighed. “He’s been like that ever since you left. He gets moody and gripes at the younger officers sometimes. He misses you.” His phone began to ring. “I gotta get this. It’s nice to see you, Harley.” He offered her a chaste smile before taking off up the stairs.

          She stood for a moment, halfway down the steps, and observed the floor below. So much had changed since she’d left. The Maniax had taken over Gotham, led by the boy that had kissed her between the bars of the holding cell so long ago. Jerome. His name made her stomach turn. Harley bit her lip. She’d watched him die on live television. But that didn’t make the dreams stop.

          And then Essen had been murdered. As well as many others. The reign of the Maniax had stopped short, and then the fires began. The news anchors called her the Fire Bug or Firefly. Mayor James returned as suddenly as he had disappeared, and then Mayor Galavan had vanished shortly afterward. No wonder Jim looked so tired.

          “Harley!” A familiar voice called, and she turned to see Leslie at the bottom of the stairs. Harley smiled, walking down to meet her.

          “How are you?”

          Leslie smiled, but Harley could see the dark circles under her eyes. “I’m alright. How are you?”

          “Pretty well. I like my job.”

          Leslie nodded. “That’s good. Arkham can be tough. How’s Jonathan?”

          Something inside Harley’s chest warmed at the question. Leslie cared enough to remember her friend, and cared even more to ask about him. “He’s doing alright. He’s made some progress, but not much recently.”

          “Is he aware of his surroundings? Responsive?”

          “Sometimes. It fades in and out between the hallucinations. But he still doesn’t speak.”

          Leslie nodded again thoughtfully. “I see.”

          “Are you alright, Leslie? You look a little worn out.”

          She sighed. “A lot has happened in the past few months. People have… changed.”

          “What do you mean?”

          Leslie took her arm and drew her gently away from a group of people going up the stairs. “Nygma’s been acting odd since you left.”

          “Yeah, Jim said the same thing about Harvey-“

          “No,” Leslie interrupted, her voice low. “He’s strange. He acts nervous and twitchy sometimes.”

          “Isn’t that always how Nygma is?”

          “It’s gotten worse. He’s secretive now. And then some moments, it’s like he’s a completely different person. He suddenly becomes assertive and wants to be left alone.”

          Harley’s mind was racing.

          “He and Kristen dated for a while-“

          “He dated _Kristen_?”

          “Yes, and then she suddenly disappeared. No one has seen her in at least a month. He told me that she ran off with Officer Dougherty, and he just started sobbing-“

          Harley’s mind flashed back to the file she’d seen in Nygma’s filing cabinet, where she’d found his notes on the antidote for the fear toxin. She remembered the folder labeled “ _Dougherty_ ” in his scrawled handwriting, but she hadn’t looked further into it.

          “Who’s Dougherty?”

          Leslie stopped short. “I suppose he was here before you were. He was a police officer, very cocky, very rude, harassed Nygma a few times. He dated Kristen for a month or two, probably didn’t treat her well, and then he just vanished. He’s been missing for almost half a year now. He left Kristen a note, saying he’d left town, but something about it didn’t feel right to her.”

          “And Kristen ran away with him?”

          Leslie’s eyes were distraught. “That’s the thing. When I talked to her, she told me she didn’t want anything to do with him. She hated Dougherty, never wanted to see him again. And then a week later, she was gone.”

          Harley paused. “Do you think Edward has something to do with this?”

          “I don’t know. I figured that if anyone would know anything, it’s you.”

          She shrugged. “I haven’t talked to Nygma much since I left the precinct. But I’ll see if I can find anything out.”

          Leslie nodded gratefully. “Thanks. I can’t tell what’s true anymore. I don’t know if he’s upset that she left him, or if he has something to do with it. I need to find Jim,” She sighed, hugging Harley. “Enjoy the party.”

          “Yeah,” Harley mumbled absentmindedly, wandering over to a desk laden with cups and a punchbowl.

          _Nygma dated Kristen? And suddenly, she’s gone. No one’s seen her for a month. And he’s acting suspicious. Could Nygma have killed Kristen? Why would he kill Kristen, after pursuing her since she started at the precinct?_ ’ 

          “Do you make it a habit?” The voice beside her jolted her from her thoughts. She jumped.

          “Excuse me?”

          The young man behind her smiled, pouring himself a glass of punch. “Talking to yourself at parties, I mean.”

          Harley felt her face flush. “Even I do, it isn’t very polite to eavesdrop,” She retorted.

          He raised one hand. “I didn’t eavesdrop. Scout’s honor. I just heard you muttering to yourself.”

          Harley frowned, and the young man seemed to enjoy it. “Who are you?”

          “My name’s Carl Pinkney.” His cheeks tinged red, and he looked down into his glass. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m not very good at starting conversations.” He paused, hesitant. “What’s your name?”

          Harley tried hard not to smile. “Harley. Harley Quinzel.”

          Pinkney looked up at the mention of her name. “You’re Harley?”

          She nodded. “Yes. Have you heard about me in the paper? It seems everyone has.”

          “No,” He said, looking almost sheepish. “Detective Bullock talks about you a lot. We’ve heard many stories about you.”

          Harley raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

          Pinkney grinned. “Apparently you got a concussion and threw up all over Detective Gordon.”

          Harley rolled her eyes. “You would too if you had just been thrown against a brick wall.”

          He grinned. “Maybe. Are you Detective Bullock’s niece or something?”

          “No, I met him when I started here. Do you work at the precinct?” 

          “Yes, I’m part of Captain Barnes’ Strike Force.”

          Harley poured herself a glass of punch. “Strike Force?”

          “Yeah, he and Detective Gordon handpicked a few of us right out the police academy. Though there’s only me and Josie left now,” He said, frowning a bit.

          There was a short, heavy pause. “So you were picked out of the academy? You can’t be that old then.”

          Pinkney smiled. “Yes, I’m nineteen, almost twenty.”

          “You’re a young one like me,” Harley joked. “Don’t let them give you too much grief for it.”

          Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Edward emerging from the forensics hallway, and her stomach dropped, suddenly reminded of her conversation with Leslie.

          “It was nice talking to you, Officer Pinkney, but I need to be going now,” She turned quickly away.

          “Wait!” Pinkney reached out, his fingertips gently catching her elbow. He avoided her eyes when he spoke. “I would like to know if I could see you again sometime- Like if we could-“

          Something stirred inside her, a nervous, expectant feeling that had gone ignored for a long time. She felt herself blush as she realized that she had butterflies in her stomach. “I’d like that.” She rummaged through her purse and found a pen and a stray gum wrapper. “Coffee?”

          “Sure,” Pinkney replied, the excitement in his voice more obvious than he probably would’ve liked. “Happy new year, Detective Pinkney,” She said, scribbling her phone number onto the paper.

          Pinkney grinned, a boyish happiness playing across his features. “Happy new year, Miss Quinzel.”

         

 

 


	2. A New Year's Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because why not finish something happy and lighthearted with something dark?

          Harley shut the door of the forensics lab behind her, and tried to quiet her racing heartbeat. Her eyes glazed over the empty autopsy table, the counters cluttered with papers, microscopes and file folders. Even though she felt at home in the lab, she did not belong here anymore.

          Harley swallowed, and made her way to the filing cabinets in the corner. Nygma’s filing cabinets. She had spent months poring over the file labeled _“Crane”_ after she had stolen it. If he had noticed its absence, he had never brought it up to her. But Nygma always paid attention.

          She gingerly tugged a pair of latex gloves from the gloves and pulled them on. She opened the top drawer and her fingers danced over the files, until she found “Dougherty”.

          _Why would Nygma have a file on a missing cop? Does he have evidence toward his disappearance?_  Harley pursed her lips, pulling the folder out of the cabinet and opening it.

          _“Dismembered for convenience.”_

_“Officer Dougherty.”_

_“Hydrofluoric acid.”_ Harley turned a page and stifled a scream. 

Paper clipped to the final page was a small Polaroid photograph of a man’s hand, extending past the wrist and ending in a bloodied stump at the forearm. The hand was lying on the autopsy table. A wave of nausea washed over Harley. The picture was taken in the lab. She tugged the photo free and flipped it over. Scrawled in Nygma’s terrible handwriting was one sentence.

          _“He got what he deserved.”_ She shut the file quickly, and shoved it back into the cabinet.

          _Wait. Harley. The one behind it._

          “I don’t want to look at any more-” But something made her. She tugged it out of the drawer and opened it. _“Kringle,”_ the tab read.

          Harley gasped, her eyes darting across the papers.

          _“Accidental strangulation.”_

_“Remains rest in Ellington Forest,_ _40.6892° N, 74.0444° W.”_  

          She hurriedly put the file in its place and shut the cabinet. Her hands shook as she tried to pull off the gloves.

          “Harley?” Nygma called softly from the doorway, confusion in his voice. Harley’s heart jumped to her throat as she turned around, stuffing the gloves into her coat pocket.  

          “Oh! Um, happy New Year, Mr. Nygma.”

          His brows furrowed. “Yes, happy New Year. What are you doing in here, instead of enjoying the party?”  
          She sighed shakily. “There were too many people out there. And honestly, I… I miss the lab.”

          Nygma gave a little smile. But there was a certain glint in his eyes, something that she had never seen there before. And for some reason, it made her afraid to go near him. He seemed like there was something inside him waiting patiently for the perfect second to pounce. “I see. Why don’t you come out for a while with me? There are plenty of new faces to introduce you to.”

          Her mind faltered. His suggestion seemed more like a dare. “I’m going to have to decline. My apologies. I think I’m coming down with something, and I don’t want to get anyone else sick.”

          Nygma frowned. “I see. Well, I hope to talk to you more soon.”

          Harley nodded curtly, walking quickly past him. The lab door shut loudly behind her, leaving Nygma alone in his darkened lab, bathed in moonlight.

          “She knows,” The voice pushed out of his throat, but he barely fought it anymore.

          “I know,” Nygma replied, striding over to his filing cabinet, brushing a finger over the top-drawer handle. “She used gloves this time. But she should know that even gloves leave traces every once in a while.” He inspected his finger. “If they’re powdered. You’d think after spending all that time with me, she would’ve learned not to be messy with such things.”

          “You’ve put this off long enough.”

          Nygma sighed. “She took the _Crane_ papers. It was more of a personal crime than an actual one. It didn’t matter to anyone but her.”

          The voice leaving his mouth was edged in steel. “Yes, but now she knows more than she ought. She needs to be taken care of.”

          He sunk to the floor, sitting against the cabinet. It towered over him, dark and looming and full of his secrets. “I know, I know. I just-”

          “You’re still fond of her.”

          “That’s-”

          “It’s true. You fell for her act, bent over backwards for her, and what did she do? She left,” The voice growled. “Just as I said she would.”

          Nygma flinched, losing his collectedness. The voice hurt him, sometimes. “But you said that she wouldn’t, as long as I-”

          “I said that she would forget you, and she did. Now she’s meddling and she needs to be taken care of!”

          Nygma whimpered.

          “Pathetic. You’re so lucky to have me, otherwise you’d still be leading your terrible little life, jumping through hoops for everyone else and not getting the least bit of thanks for it. Where is your dignity?”

          “I’m better than that. I’m better now.”

          “Prove it. Get rid of her.”

          Nygma gritted his teeth. “Fine. I’ll talk to Oswald tomorrow, and we’ll figure something out.”

          “Perfect.”

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. A Valentine's Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last chapter before Gotham comes back! Yay!

          Harley sighed happily, tossing the takeout boxes into the trash. “Anything on the news worth listening to?” She called into the living room.

          Carl grunted noncommittally. “Not much. Crime, murder, rape. Someone broke into a chemicals warehouse. Stole liquid nitrogen, for some reason.”

          “Is it popular on the black market or something?” Harley joked, returning to the couch. Carl opened his arms, and she climbed into them, resting her head on his chest. There was something about him that calmed the chaos in her mind, that pushed aside all the worries and stresses of her life, and let her enjoy the moment.

          Their nightly ritual had started on Valentine’s Day. They were new in their relationship, and Carl had been called to the precinct for a night patrol. So they had stayed in at her apartment, ordered dinner, and fell asleep on the couch. Now, their schedules were almost polar opposites, and the tradition had ended up sticking. He worked nights and slept all day. She worked at Arkham from nine to five, and slept after he left for the precinct.

          Harley smiled, savoring the warmth of his arms around her. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. There was a peace she felt with him that she hadn’t felt in months, maybe years. He was predictable. They would fall asleep, his alarm would go off in an hour or so, he would go to work, and she’d go to bed.

          “Hey, Harley?” His voice was full of sleep.

          “Mmm?”

          “Are you- Are you-“ His voice faltered, as it always did when he was nervous.

          “What?”

          “Are you… happy with me? With this?”

          There was a heavy moment as Harley considered the question, and wondered why he had asked it. “I am. I think… I think you’re the best thing that had happened to me in a long time.”

          She felt him sigh slightly in relief. His arms tightened around her, and she moved closer to him. She truly felt safe around him. She was safe in their routine, she thought, as her eyes fell heavy.

          She felt her breathing slow, and sleepily dreaded how he would have to get up and go downtown soon, leaving her alone and cold in her apartment. But he was here now, and he was safe and warm, and she was dozing off in his arms.

          The lights flickered, and she shivered. Harley looked around, and the confusion faded somewhat in her mind. She was standing, barefoot, in an Arkham hallway. But why? It was far too late for her to be there. And where were her shoes?

          A bloodcurdling scream echoed down the hall, and made her jump. She sprinted towards the sound, looking into windows as she passed. All of the rooms were dimly lit and empty. She pushed through the swinging doors of the operating theatre, and stopped dead.

          A tall, slender man stood over the gurney, his back to her. He worked diligently, ignoring the screams of his patient, plucking scalpels from a nearby table. The patient strained against his restraints, his hands clenched into fists.

                   Harley choked on a sob, and the man turned to her, pulling the surgical mask from his face. She caught sight of the man on the gurney and screamed. Carl’s face was pale, a rag stuffed in his mouth. His eyes had been cut out, streams of blood flowing from empty sockets.

          “Oh, hello, Harley,” Nygma smiled, pulling bloodstained gloves off his hands.

          “Harley?”Carl asked, his voice weak and hoarse. His face was even paler than it had been a moment ago. “Harley, is that you?”

          “He’s going to die, Edward,” She sobbed.

          Nygma only grinned. “Yes, that was the point. I had to kill him.” He shrugged. “I have to kill everything you love.”

          “Why?” Defeat coursed through her voice.

          He smiled softly. “Because you’re my friend. _My_ friend.”

          She flew at him, taking the scalpel from his own hand. She cut and tore into his face, his neck, his chest. She screamed his name at him, feeling all the pain of his betrayal in each sound she made. And Edward only laughed.

          “Harley!”Suddenly she fell, and hit the floor of her own apartment with a thud. “Harley, are you okay?”Carl caught a flailing wrist, cradling his nose with the other hand.

          She sat up, out of breath and shaking. “Did I hurt you?”

          Carl sighed. “You were having a nightmare. I think you broke my nose.”

          “Carl, I’m so sorry-“

          “It’s fine,” He said curtly, cutting her off. “I guess I need to go to the hospital before going to the precinct now.” He took his coat from the hook and stuffed his arms into it.

          “At least let me help you clean up some of the blood.”

          “Harley, it’s fine. Just go to bed.” He closed the door harder than he usually did on his way out, and Harley felt a pang in her chest. He had never neglected to kiss her goodbye.

          Carl hurried out onto the street, holding one of his gloves to his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He wasn’t mad that she had hit him. She was having a nightmare, it was almost to be expected, after all that she had gone through.

          But he couldn’t help being upset and confused. He had heard her crying another man’s name in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
